Gravity is Working Against Me
by Kendarrr
Summary: slightly!au: Santana is no physicist but trust her when she says gravity hates everyone. Especially her. Pezberry!


_If you're a Faberry-only type of reader, I'm sorry that I got your hopes up. This is Pezberry (sort of). Also, don't hate me. I'm working on Train to Nowhere once my English essay is done. THEN we can celebrate with porn and feelings all wrapped in one. I just want to make it good for you guys, so be patient. Okay?_

_ANYWAYS. This is me trying new things. Faberry is still my OTP but Pezberry has its way of squirming in my heart. And I know who's to blame._

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><p>The last time Rachel and Santana hung out together was when they were fourteen years old, in the cusp of entering the magical world of high school. They were young, and they had no idea that a friendship as fun and amazing such as theirs would be affected by the bitterness of boys and girls with no <em>real<em> friends.

There was a time when Santana had it all, but now… She looks on, ahead of her, and she sees what she has lost, or perhaps, something she can never have. She is sitting in the choir room; her crisp red-and-white Cheerios uniform hugs her curves. The pleats brush her bare thighs, her legs are crossed, and jealousy continues to consume her. Every day, she might as well become an alien with green eyes. She scoffs to herself. Green is not her colour.

What annoys her, more than that scumbag Finn Hudson and his potato sack body, is that shit-eating grin on one Quinn Fabray, with her arms around _her._ Rachel Berry. Santana Lopez's dream girl.

It sucks because she cannot blame anyone other than herself. Santana was the one who pulled herself away from the best friend she ever had. She was the one who succumbed to the throes of peer pressure, joining the Cheerios, initiating dumpster tosses, and throwing slushies. The only thing that helped Santana sleep at night was the thought that she never personally threw a slushie at Rachel.

"San, your hand is bleeding," Brittany whispers, causing the raven-haired girl to glance at her clenched fist. Her fingernails mark her palm, and red lines are drawn all over it. Sighing in annoyance and at the mild pain, Santana wipes her hand on her skirt and reflects a small smile back at Brittany.

"Why are you so mad?" The tall blonde Cheerio asks, resting her head against Santana's shoulder. "Is it because – "

"Please don't finish that sentence out loud."

"…"

Santana glances down at her friend. "Britt?"

"I finished the sentence, but in my head. Did you get my message?"

A chuckle shakes her body and Santana sighs. It is a mild reprieve from the pain and frustration she continuously feels as every day passes by. Quinn leans in against Rachel's ear, buries her nose within soft, chocolate tresses. Rachel giggles, and again, Santana feels the sting of her nails slicing through her skin.

"Fuck," Santana mumbles. She wants to get out of here, drive back home, lock the door to her room and crank out the Bon Iver and the Adele, and cry herself to a dreamless sleep. Or make her do her homework. Anything is better than seeing Quinn kissing Rachel, nuzzling her, making her feel things Santana wants to make her to feel. She wants to be the one to tell her that Rachel is beautiful, that her voice can reach up to heaven, be heard by all the angels and saints. Santana wants…

Santana just wants _her_.

It is, however, too late to wish for such things. Head Cheerio Quinn Fabray has come to sweep Rachel off her feet, leaving Santana among the dust and the remnants of her memories. Now that she thinks about it, Quinn Fabray has it all. She has the popularity, the title, the influence, and now…

Now she has the girl.

The girl Quinn once loathed, abused, and mocked during middle school; the same girl that burst through Santana's room, crying because the snake-faced blonde girl called her a dwarf reject. Santana remembers the day after, and her detention with the creepy Spanish teacher after offering Quinn the beat down she deserved. But it was all worth it, because despite the wounds and the scratches, Rachel was there to kiss her cheek and bandage her wounds.

The rest of the glee club streams into the room, followed by Mr. Schuester with his idealistic hopes and dreams, and the hat.

"Look! It's the hat with the ducks in it!" Brittany squealed, clapping her hands together. She bounces on her seat as she shakes Santana, urging her to share her enthusiasm.

"Okay, okay!" Mr. Schuester laughs as he calms down the rest of the group. "This week's assignment is simple, almost clichéd, even." He grins sheepishly at his kids, who watch him in misplaced amusement. "Everyone will pick a person, thanks to my trusty hat," he holds it up and shakes it. "…and you will sing a song to the person you draw. It can be about how much you like them, or how much they bug you, anything as long as it's honest." Turning to a smirking Puck, Mr. Schuester sighs. "…and no inappropriate songs, please."

At this, Santana's gaze fleets to the nymph that possesses her heart. Rachel's lips form a small smile, her hand reaching for Quinn's. It is when their fingers interlace together, does Santana look away.

When it is Santana's turn, she hops off the risers and sticks her hand inside the hat, wishing for fortuitous way to sing to –

"_Rachel,"_ Santana reads, her face remaining stoic and almost unreadable. She regards Rachel's features, and it – Santana is glad to say – is of mild happiness. Quinn looks amused, but that is all the reaction that can be gauged from the blonde.

"As long as you don't sing a song about killing her, San." Quinn says with a light smile. She pecked Rachel's cheek and grinned. "Darn, and I had a list of songs I want to sing to you."

Rachel turns to Quinn and places a comforting hand on the small of her back. "You're so sweet. I'm actually pretty excited about what Santana will sing. She's a very talented singer."

Her eyes that always reminded Santana of cold winter nights because of how warm they are, grazes the raven-haired girl's skin. She feels sick, because she can't hate Quinn for being too freaking sweet. Watching them, Santana can tell that the blonde cheerleader actually cares for Rachel. Furtive smiles pass against lips, and the chaos resumes once more.

/~/

After dropping Brittany to her house, Santana parks her car on the driveway. Running up the stairs to her room, she leapt on top of her bed, blindly searching for her body pillow that she hugs close to her body. With her face buried against the pillow, she hooks up her iPod to the deck with practiced ease. A soft whimper escapes her as the first piano notes of her favourite Bon Iver song floats around her room.

The list of songs that she built on her way from school increased drastically as she continues to listen to the playlist she created for occasions such as this. Santana sits up and takes her laptop from her desk. Opening up her iTunes, she makes a list of all the possible songs that slipped her mind.

Now, she is sitting with more than twenty songs, varying in themes and messages. Some are upbeat, some are soulful and acoustic. Some are angry, some are thankful, but more than half of the songs are sad. Because right now, it is what Santana is.

/~/

The next morning is spent mulling over which song to sing, seeing as Santana has yet to come up with a final decision. The day passes by without her noticing, until she makes it to physics class, a class that she shares with Rachel. Why the singer is taking such a course, Santana will never know, and she has yet to build up the courage to ask.

"Good afternoon Santana," Rachel greets. It is filled with far too much formality, but Santana does not complain. Instead, she regards the shorter girl and cocks her head.

"Hey Berry."

"Oh come on," the diva reprimands softly. "We're closer than that, Tana."

Santana bites her lip, pretends not to hear her, when really, all that sings in her head is Rachel. They sit in silence, but Santana is not listening to the teacher drone on about pendulums and equations. All she cares about is the warmth her arm is feeling from being so close to Rachel.

"What's wrong? You're shaking." Rachel leans over to whisper. Her long, brown tresses graze Santana's naked arm, and she pulls away. If only she can pull her entire life away, maybe then she will be able to breathe. "Talk to me, please Tana."

"Don't call me that." She murmurs. It is all too familiar, to reminiscent of things that she has never experienced before. Whenever Santana calls her by the childhood nickname, she remembers the time when they hold hands and watch movies, neither hiding a thing. Santana scoffs to herself. How can she remember when she never forgot? "We're not best friends anymore, remember?"

Rachel huffs and shakes her head. "That's not fair. I didn't get to have a say in it."

"People grow up and fall apart. Deal with it."

"I shall not," Rachel says. The tip of her chin makes her defiant, and it somehow makes Santana grin. "We grow up, but that doesn't mean we have to fall apart. Now, do you have a song for me yet?" She grins in that adorkable way that makes Santana wants to take her face in her hands and just kiss her.

She wants to do that all the time.

But anyway, that's not the point.

"What's the point in singing it if I tell you now?" Santana rolls her eyes and looks on ahead, ignoring the weird yet familiar feeling in her gut. It is something she feels whenever she had stomach flu, or when she was about to get mugged on her way to her abuelita's house in Lima Heights Adjacent.

Oh, so that's what love is. Fear and sickness all in one.

Rachel shrugs and bumps her shoulder with Santana's. "I was testing you."

Santana stares at her for two minutes. Honestly? This thing with Quinn and Rachel feels like the ultimate test, like the quest she has to overcome in order to achieve enlightenment or something. Whatever it is, as long as it concerns Rachel, it gives her enough motivation to pull her shit through.

/~/

Her house is empty when she returns home from school, which is the way she likes it best. Santana makes a grilled cheese sandwich and brings it up to her room, cranking up the playlist of 'possible songs for that Berry girl'. A cold name for a fiery playlist, she knows, but it is a way to detach herself from Rachel's effects on her body and mind. She would say soul but well, she doesn't have one, so.

A blues tune filters through her speakers, and the initial lyrics fill the air. Santana rolls over and buries her face into her pillow. She huffs at the tears prickling her eyes. The lyrics of the stupid song about physics and force-proportional attraction hit her far too close to home that Santana reaches out to change the song.

"Great," she hisses to herself. Another song about physics. This time, about momentum and sinking and – wait a second.

Santana sits up and listens at the lyrics and the tune and the message. It is all about… _falling_, and the force it takes, the force it means to be… to be in love with someone. With that, Santana gets up and off her bed, logs on to her MacBook and opens up Garage Band. And so a night of merging two songs together begins.

By the time she likes how her mash-up sounds, the clock blears one in the morning. Santana syncs the song into her iPod and she plays it, allowing herself to know it by heart. She goes for a jazzy blues tune and has no doubts that she will sound good singing to Rachel Berry. And the lyrics mean something to her for once.

/~/

The day comes for singing, and to say that Santana is nervous. She bounces her knee and gnaws on her stubbed nails as she waits for the rest of the Glee club to come in. Brittany sits beside her, hand on the small of her back in hopes of calming her down. "You'll be fine," she whispers against Santana's ear, and for two seconds, she believes her.

Until Rachel and Quinn enter the room.

Santana gulps and wishes to disappear, but russet eyes pin her to her chair. "Santana! Are you ready?" Rachel beams, swinging her hand that is locked with Quinn's to and fro. The raven-haired girl with the raven heart can't decide what hurts more: that she's singing to a girl she can never have, or that the girl she can't have is so blatant with her affection for Quinn.

"Yeah, I guess…" she mutters, turning to press her face against Brittany's shoulder. "Britt, I don't think I can do this…"

"Yes you can!" the tall blonde hugs Santana closer to her body while tracing soothing shapes all over her back. "You sang the song to me yesterday and I almost cried, so I'm sure Rachel will cry too."

Quinn cocks her brow, but her smile is pleasant. "You're aiming to make my girl cry, Lopez?"

"What, no!" Santana gawks at Quinn, who smirks at her in return. "I just – well… Please don't hate me."

"Why – San, I can never hate you. You're my best friend. And as long as you don't hurt Rachel's feelings, we'll be good."

_ Yeah, that makes it sooo much better._

Santana bites her lip and nods anyway. "Okay, that's great to hear."

Mr. Schuester and the rest of New Directions come into the room, each carrying their own hopes and dreams while Santana's rests her head against Quinn's shoulder. She sighs against Brittany's arm, dread filling her up faster than what she can control.

"So, who's ready to present their song?" Mr. Schuester beams at them, rubbing her hands in anticipation? "How about you, Mike?"

Mike stands up and bows to Quinn before performing a badass rendition of Magneto and Titanium Man. The blonde giggles throughout the song, mouthing the words and dancing with him when he pulls her up. Rachel claps loud and praises Mike's skill and soothing vocals.

The rest of the club sings their song, and the last one remains. Santana.

"Now this, I want to hear." Quinn says, reaching over to pat the dark-haired girl. "Go on and show us your stuff, San."

"You can do this." Brittany pecks her forehead and squeezes her hand. Santana breathes deep before walking up to the front of the room. She eyes the people she will quietly call her friends. They smile at her, and she smiles – tentatively – back.

Glancing at the band, they nod back and the drums begin to play a jazzy tune that makes the room sway in time with the beat. The guitar riffs come; Santana grips the microphone stand and focuses her gaze on Rachel.

"_Gravity __is __working __against __me_…" Santana's voice is strong. It does not tremble, but her knees do. "…_and __gravity __wants __to __bring __me __down."_

_ "You __are __the __dark __ocean __bottom __and __I__ am __the __fast-sinking __anchor,"_ she takes the microphone off of the stand and she walks closer to the risers, her eyes never leaving the subject of her song, until the last line of the verse. "_Should __I __fall __for __you?"_

Eyes widen all around her, and for a moment, Santana falters. She loses her fire and her need to convey her burdens. A pair of eyes remains bright and unwavering, and so Santana regains composure as the song picks up the beat. "_All __we __need __is __a __little __bit __of __momentum...__Oh __gravity __is __working __against __me_."

_ "All __we __need __is __a __little __bit __of __inertia, __but __gravity __wants __to __bring __me __down._"

Santana hates the look in Quinn's features. The pity and the concern are so evident, but more so is the arm around Rachel's shoulders. This is her silent way of conveying what Santana already knows. Rachel is hers, and there is no way that she will take her away. Not that Santana can in the first place…

She repeats the verses with the sound of her pain and love and her desire. Brittany looks at her, proud and amazed, while Rachel stares. Her face is unreadable; hiding something that Santana cannot distinguish. Either way, she knows her heart will break. "_Break __down __and __tell, __break __down __and __tell __that __you __are __gravity __so __stay __the __hell __away __from __me__…__"_

_ "Since __gravity __has __taken __a __better __girl __than __me,"_ her lips quirk as she smiles at Quinn. This is Santana conceding her absolute defeat. _"Just __keep __me __where __the __light __is."_

The piano and the drums remain as Santana hooks the microphone back to the stand. Her coffee-coloured eyes focus in on Rachel's as she sings the final line. _"Just __keep __me __where __the __light __is."_

All is silent, just the way Santana dreads it to be. They stare at her, not knowing what to make out of the song and her tear-filled eyes. "I'm done here," Santana mumbles, taking her bag from the floor and walking out of the room in haste.

Sobs do not wrack her body while she sits in her car with her iPod plugged in, waiting. Brittany rode with her to school this morning and she's not a selfish friend who will leave the blonde to walk home on her own. She checks the clock, knowing that glee is finally over. A knock brings her back to the ugly reality. Cracking an eye open, her heart skips at the sight.

"Tana, may we talk? Please?"

The song changes.

Santana dispels a long breath, emptying out her lungs with a frown. She unlocks the door and swears to herself with Rachel sitting beside her. "Does Q know you're here?"

"Yes, in fact she encouraged it. I opted to give you space but she told me that doing that only leads to you to build up your pig-iron walls." Rachel explains. Her hands are folded neatly on her lap – her offensive stance. Santana sighs, dread courses through her veins, and it oddly feels calming. "Santana, what you sang…"

"…is the truth, and nothing more."

"But – "

"Yes, Rachel. I'm in love with you or whatever." Santana grips the steering wheel as she slumps against it. "And that was me taking the risk to tell you even if you're with Quinn. I honestly didn't expect anything to happen, except to tell the truth." She shrugs, trying to be as noncommittal as possible. "It doesn't matter, okay?"

"Aren't you – I don't know – sad?" Rachel asks.

"More than what is humanely possible," Santana remarks with a sly grin.

"H-how are you taking this so easily?" The brunette demands, her body faces Santana's and her eyes are lit with a fire that Santana has not seen before. It reminds her of an inferno, where she belongs.

"What do you want me to do then?" Santana scowls at Rachel, pleased that she falters beneath her gaze. "You want me to mope around? Be sad and cry myself to sleep? Listen to the saddest fucking songs I can get my hands on? Well guess what, Rachel. I've been doing that every day since you and Quinn got together."

"Really?"

The song changes once more and Santana swears to herself. "Fucking hell…" she mumbles, slapping the power button shut. "Look, can you just go back to ignoring me? I'm fine with that, I swear."

"Clearly not if your most played tracks are Bon Iver." Rachel retorts. "I want to talk about this. You can't expect me to ignore your romantic confession!"

"What's there to talk about? I love you, you don't love me back. You love Quinn. Trust me, I'm happy for you." Santana's grip on the steering wheel tightens and her teeth dig into her lip. "I don't hate Quinn or anyone for this. In fact, I'm relieved that you're with her. I know she'll treat you right."

The Ohioan sun settles behind a blockade of clouds, making the atmosphere dim and grey. Streaks of oranges and yellows vanish, and Santana does not feel so alone. "So, you know, get out. I still have to drive Brittany home."

"Quinn offered to take her home so she wouldn't have to wait," Rachel says. "You'll be driving me home tonight."

Santana huffs and starts her car. The road to the Berry house is a familiar one for Santana, seeing as it was the home of the girl she likes. Pulling up to the driveway, Santana leans back against the driver's seat and unlocks the door. "Ta-ta, Berry."

"I'll make you talk about it one day, Santana. Just wait." Rachel warns almost playfully, but Santana knows this girl. The girl with the short skirts and the animal sweaters never jokes about things like this – about things like love, especially if it concerns her.

"I'll be waiting for a really long time, Berry."

There is a silent double-entendre in her words, and it does not escape Rachel. Santana backs up and drives off with a wave, away from the girl that defies gravity, and the one that keeps her grounded. But until that day comes, Santana will find a way to defy the laws of physics and prevent herself from falling further in love.

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><p><em>I am torn. I don't know who deserves Rachel more. :|<em>


End file.
